"Hello Taylor," said Harris as he came up the steps. Jim had never ceased to be genial with this particular enemy. "How's tricks? Understand your cut's about finished."
"Yes, two or three days more."
"You'll be pulling out, then?"
Taylor stopped beside him; there was something in his gaze, a direct, penetrating quality, which caused Harris' eyes to narrow ever so slightly when John left off scrutinizing him and looked hard at Rowe.
"I don't expect to leave right away," he said. "Fact is, I intend to stay right here until another matter is cleaned up—as one of the preliminary steps I want to turn some of your money back to you."
"My money?" Harris asked.
"Yes, this." Taylor took a bill and some coins from his pocket and counted deliberately. "A dollar and sixty-eight cents; that's right."
He held out his hand to Harris who made no move to accept it.
"What's the idea, Taylor? You don't owe me a nickel."
"I'm beginning to think that I owe you a great deal—you and Phil Rowe," Taylor replied. "This, though, is not on our account. This is the money turned back to you from young Kildare. I took it from him when he was leaving town last night, to escape charges of conspiracy and perjury—This will make fifty-one dollars and sixty-eight cents that you have saved on this little flier, Harris—Take it, you rat!"
His words bit savagely as he took that one quick step which brought him close to Harris. The man reached out, almost involuntarily, for the change. It clinked in his palm.
